


Use Your Words

by lonelywalker



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Age Difference, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 09:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6112297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelywalker/pseuds/lonelywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all begins because of two simple facts.</p><p>One: Cisco Ramon will never back down in a battle of innuendo.</p><p>Two: Cisco Ramon has never refused a blow job in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Use Your Words

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-2x11 and pretty much disregards following episodes.

It all begins because of two simple facts.

One: Cisco Ramon will never back down in a battle of innuendo.

Two: Cisco Ramon has never refused a blow job in his life.

Afterward, it’s difficult to remember exactly what led up to it. Harry had been squeakily scribbling on his board, Cisco had been running simulations, and they’d both been tossing cutting, sarcastic remarks over their shoulders. Every so often Cisco had tossed a marker along with the remark (the dull thud of pen hitting back was incredibly, pettily satisfying). One of his irritated, offhand remarks had been a muttered “suck it” and Harry, in that typically condescending tone, had said “suck what?” as if they didn’t have insults on Earth-2 and he wasn’t a mega-genius who could figure stuff out.

“Suck my lollipop, what do you think?” Damn, he hadn’t had one in the drawer to demonstrate. “It’s not like you’re actually using that mouth to _talk_ to me.”

Harry turned, tossing his marker in the trash. “Give me another pen.”

Cisco looked pointedly at all the identical markers strewn around the floor. 

“I see how it is, Ramon. You just want me down on my knees.”

“Sure, if it stops me having your crotch at eye-level all the time.”

“It’s not my fault you have a Napoleon complex.”

“Pfft. I have a Napoleon complex _in my pants_.” That sounded so impressive if neither of them thought about it.

Harry raised his eyebrows. What should have happened next was another demand for a pen. Or one of those Harry Wells tantrums that meant he stalked out of the room and Caitlin had to track him down at a bar. What _did_ happen was that those eyes, those brilliantly blue eyes, fixed right on Cisco’s actual pants. 

Cisco shifted. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t stared at Harry enough. Firstly out of a sense of self-preservation, because the guy had a knack for scaring him and might’ve possibly been a supervillain. And secondly because… well, because of the eyes, and the muscled forearms, and the perpetually-tousled hair, and the nice butt he _knew_ was under those baggy dad jeans… But Cisco staring at Harry was one thing. Everyone stared at Harry. People had stared at Dr. Wells – Eobard Thawne – too, made posters of him, done GQ spreads, and probably this Harry Wells also made people drool back on Earth-2.

But people generally did not look at Cisco like that. Not even Lisa or Kendra. They kissed. They cuddled. They did not stare at his crotch from across the room. Oh, and now he was looking like he was at serious risk of licking his lips.

“Be careful what you wish for, Ramon.”

“Be careful what _you_ wish for. You really think you can handle the hotness of Cisco Ramon?” What was he even _saying_? But the alternative was letting Harry fluster him. And there was no way Harry was actually going to follow through, so Harry would be the one who would wind up on the back foot, defeated, beaten… And whyyyyy was Harry seriously, literally, actually getting down on his knees, setting his glasses on top of Cisco’s notepad?

Cisco could’ve rolled his chair away. Could’ve bolted up and left. Could’ve told him “no no no, not on your life.” But oh my God, if there was a _chance_ this was _actually happening_ …

“If I handle the hotness, will you shut up and let me work?”

“Mm hm.” Cisco’s eyes were wide, watching Harry unzip his fly, ease down his underwear. He swallowed, biting his lip, afraid that the nervousness making his stomach churn would also mean he had zero chance of, well, performing. But hey, the unexpected warmth and gentleness of Harry’s hand made a _lot_ of things better, and holy Hannah this was actually happening. Harrison Wells was stroking his cock. In his workshop. Where anyone could walk in on them. But Cisco couldn’t see the door from where he was sitting, and whatever endorphins were already flooding his brain were changing fear into a thrill, his cock twitching as it hardened.

“Quiet,” Harry said, and opened his mouth, and took Cisco in.

 _Quiet_. God. Cisco could barely breathe, much less talk, and if he could talk it would’ve been nothing but an ongoing whisper of “ohGodohGodohGod.” He might’ve been laid a few weeks ago, but that had been a few weeks ago, and virile young men have their needs! Plus Kendra had never done _this_. Kendra also hadn’t been a straight-up beautiful older man whose approval and friendship Cisco had been hoping for ever since Harry saved Caitlin and proved himself a semi-worthwhile human being.

Cisco hadn’t pegged Harry as gay or bi, but in retrospect that was probably just because of his daughter and his less-than-charming personality that would drive people of any gender a million miles away. Whatever he was, this was definitely _not_ his first time sucking cock. Holy cow. Cisco had half anticipated Harry getting two seconds into it and pulling away, leaving Cisco high and dry with a “you didn’t think I was serious, did you?” smirk. But this was… If it wasn’t real, Harry was one amazing actor, drawing Cisco in deep, his mouth hot and wet, his tongue clever as all hell… Cisco pushed his hips forward and up, rocking in time with Harry’s rhythm. Being quiet was one thing, but no way could he just sit still.

And… Oh man, more than anything he wanted his hands in that hair, to touch Harry, to make this one tiny bit less like he was being blown in a back alley for five bucks. Frantically thinking what to do took his mind off what Harry was actually doing for a few moments, which was probably good, because otherwise Cisco wasn’t confident at all about lasting as long as he wanted this to last. 

His touch to Harry’s head was tentative, but Harry did nothing, still did nothing when Cisco threaded all ten fingers through that surprisingly non-greasy hair, and maybe he even sucked a little harder, moving a hand from Cisco’s hip to cup his tight balls.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Cisco breathed, which was still quiet, right? He tilted his head back, closing his eyes, feeling the motion of Harry’s head under his hands, mouth around his cock. “I need… I need… Oh God, please…”

If this was a joke, Cisco had given up caring a long time ago, was beyond caring about anything at all, pushing Harry’s mouth onto his cock, thrusting, _needing_ … And Harry didn’t choke or pull away, just took him, all of him, until Cisco was tensing and tightening up, his spine tingling, belly filling with warmth, and then spilling out what felt like gallons of come into Harry’s mouth, over his tongue, down his throat.

He didn’t cry out, but his breath was gone and he had to fight to get it back in gasps, his hips still jerking, his hands still buried in Harry’s hair.

Eventually, Harry sat back on his heels, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and slid his glasses back on. Cisco was still gaping, trying to figure out what to say, by the time Harry was back up and at the board.

“Don’t you… I could…”

Harry held up his fisted hand. Silence.

Cisco frowned, but there wasn’t much more to do than tidy himself up, walk on slightly wobbly legs to the door, and then hide in the bathroom for half an hour, trying to figure out what just happened.

***

Now, a week later, WebMD isn’t being very helpful about what you should do after almost being erased from existence. Caitlin had said he should rest, take it easy, and let her know if he had any more nosebleeds… But that seemed way too ordinary when he’d just spent the afternoon phasing through a bed. Still, he didn’t have much else he could do. Caitlin was busy with Jay, Barry was catching up with work, and in his experience the best cure for anything is watching movies with beer and plenty of food.

He’s fifteen minutes into _Back to the Future_ (why not?) when there’s a knock at the door.

People don’t visit him at home. He sees everyone at work and they make plans there, or they call him. Since he’s been living with his parents, even Caitlin hasn’t been dropping by. So it’s one-hundred-percent a neighbor or Jehovah’s Witness or…

It’s Harry Wells, a black shadow on his doorstep.

“Hi,” Cisco says, and then reality catches up to him and he snatches Harry’s lapel and drags him inside. “What are you doing out there? What if someone saw you?”

“No one saw me. And I’m wearing the cap.”

“Yeah, tell that to the kid whose gifts you stole. Iris had to intercept his parents telling the newspapers all about you. And the last time you wore the cap, Patty shot you!”

Harry, as ever, is ignoring him, taking off the cap as he looks around. “I wanted to check you’re okay.”

Cisco processes this. “Really? What if my parents opened the door?”

“Your mother’s Amex was used in Midway City an hour ago. Her sister lives there, and both your parents flew out two days ago. I imagine they’ll make a week of it.”

“Huh. Okay. Well. I’m okay. I’m fine. Thanks for stopping by. Try not to get arrested on the way back to the lab.”

“Your concern is truly touching.”

He’s halfway to putting the cap back on when Cisco glances over at his popcorn and says, “You know what… I just started a movie you really have to see.”

“I doubt I have to see anything, Ramon.”

“Yeah? Well this is _Back to the Future_. Which even the Reverse Flash, who is literally a time traveler, loved. So it’s totally educational.”

Harry – God help him – is pretty cute when he’s confused. “I think we have that movie on my Earth. It’s not very good.”

“But that was your Earth. Everything is way better here. Our Flash doesn’t wear a wok on his head, for starters.”

“Okay,” Harry says softly. “I’ll watch the movie.”

Cisco fetches him a cold one from the fridge, and by the time he does Harry is already on the couch, his coat hung up by the door, his glasses on. He doesn’t look like he _belongs_ there, exactly, in the Ramons’ nice, comfy, ordinary middle-class home. But he doesn’t look too out of place either. “I’ll restart it from the beginning,” Cisco says, sitting down where he had before, which is right next to Harry but no way is he going to move. “But it’s not exactly hard to understand, Mr. Einstein’s Riddle.”

So… he might’ve underestimated that. Harry doesn’t ask, but Cisco can sense his tension, his furrowed brow. Watching beloved movies with other people is always nerve-wracking. He hadn’t even enjoyed _The Princess Bride_ much because he’d been so sensitive to what Kendra was doing, if she laughed, if she liked it. 

Cisco hits Pause. “Okay, either you don’t get the references or you hate the physics, which is it? Cause I can help with one of them if you actually say something.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Harry says.

“Oh, _this_ is when you decide to be polite. C’mon, out with it.”

Harry sighs. “Calvin Klein,” he says.

“Calvin Klein.”

“Yes. Why was that name on his underwear?”

Cisco stares. Stares harder. “Okay, one, you don’t have Calvins on your Earth? Two, how could you not figure it out?”

“I thought it was a plot point.”

“It’s a _brand_ , Jesus! I thought after how much you were interested in getting into my underwear you’d have more of a clue about it.” Cisco pauses. He’s suddenly more interested in whatever underwear Harry’s wearing than he’d like to admit. “Okay, are we good? Can I start again?”

It’s hard to tell with the glasses, but Harry’s gaze on him suddenly feels a little more intense. For a long time Cisco had shied away from looking too long into those startling eyes, the same eyes as the man who had killed him over and over in his dreams. But they’re beautiful, they really are, and because an evil guy had stolen them once doesn’t make them any less so.

“Ramon,” Harry says, his voice soft, almost laughing, rather than his usual rasping whisper. “Are you all right?”

Cisco swallows and tries to get some moisture back into his mouth. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He blindly thumbs off the TV. “What happened in the workshop…”

“Doesn’t need to mean anything.”

“But it… But it _could_ , right?”

It occurs to him that he’s absolutely alone with Harry for the first time. No Barry or Caitlin a few rooms away. No one who even knows they’re together. Which would have been a _terrifying_ thought just a couple of months ago, when Harry had made him flinch with a look. And now… Now it’s an opportunity.

“Ramon…”

“Cisco,” Cisco says.

Harry’s eyes narrow in thought, crinkling at the corners. “Yes,” he says finally. “Cisco.”

First kisses have never, ever been anything but awkward and nerve-wracking. Still, when the guy’s already sucked you off it makes things a tiny bit easier. The beer probably helps too. He pulls Harry toward him, crushing mouth to mouth, and what’s most surprising isn’t the taste of him, the wetness, the roughness of his stubble, but Harry’s hand in his hair, warm, soft, stroking… And the longer the kiss lasts, as it deepens, lips parting, Harry’s tongue flicking against his, the more it feels real, like Harry means it, like _he_ means it. 

Cisco backs up a bit, swallowing, breathing like he’s in eighth grade gym class. “Okay,” he says, as if he has some kind of plan.

“Okay?” And this was clearly a bad idea, to stop and think at all, because now Harry assumes he’s being rejected, that Cisco’s reconsidering the whole thing.

So Cisco reaches out and slides off Harry’s glasses. He looks honest-to-God adorkable in them, but they’ve got to come off sometime, and Cisco wants the chance to stare into those clear, vivid blue eyes without feeling self-conscious about staring. The thing is, though… The thing is… Harry is staring right back, fingertips combing through Cisco’s hair, coming to rest on his cheek.

“I need to know that this isn’t about him,” Harry says, his voice low.

Cisco’s mind is a blank. Him? Does he mean Hartley? Barry? “About who?”

Harry almost winces, tilts his head like he doesn’t want to say it at all: “The other me… Thawne.”

“What? No! God, no.” It was true he’d looked at Harry and seen nothing but Thawne at first. Harry did look identical, even dressed identically. And yet everything he’s done in all the time they’ve spent together has reinforced how very much _not_ Thawne he is, for better and worse. If it’s possible for two men with the same face to look very different… Well, they seem different in Cisco’s mind anyway. This Wells, the actual, real Wells, is the one who’s run into danger for them so many times, the one who rolls his eyes and gets mad and… to be honest, seems like a real human being. Thawne had been too good to be true from the very beginning. Harry is all awkward, rough edges.

“I mean, God, he was hot, but I never wanted to-” Cisco frowns. “Can we go back to the kissing? The kissing was good.”

The kissing _is_ good, and the touching is better. He’s always liked it, those first explorations of a body, even just of the clothes, feeling the subtle woven pattern of Harry’s shirt, the bulging curve of his shoulders, his ribs… Cisco tugs the shirt loose from his jeans and slips a hand up under, just as Harry’s pulling him out of his own unbuttoned shirt, pushing his hair back, and kissing him harder, like this time it’s very definitely leading somewhere. And _yes_ it is. So much so that Cisco doesn’t let himself think about Harry’s jeans and what’s under them, because if he does he’ll miss out on all the other good stuff. 

Which is somehow _not_ what happens when Harry peels off his own shirt and dumps it on the floor as he lies back on the couch, his long legs splayed out either side of a kneeling Cisco. Harrison Wells shirtless is… Well holy Hannah no man in his fifties should look that good, which is even better than Cisco had guessed from what he’d seen before of his arms, flat belly, treasure trail winding down into his boxers. But the rest of it is a cold shower: Grodd’s slash across his left side, barely healed into a jagged line despite Caitlin’s expert stitching; what looks like a _crater_ just to the left of his sternum, over his heart – he’d been shot, but somehow Cisco had imagined that Jay phasing the bullet out would’ve healed everything; and then just bruises of every color. Harry’s often as big a hero as Barry, but Harry doesn’t heal.

“How are you even walking around?”

Harry looks down at himself, as if he could’ve actually forgotten. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“Yeah? If I…” Cisco waves a hand over it all. “I know I almost died, but this is like five almost-dyings, and I didn’t even need stitches.”

“Cisco,” Harry says. “Why don’t you stop talking and take off that garish t-shirt?”

Cisco glares, affronted, and that almost makes it okay that Harry’s just lying there, looking like he had a fight with a monster truck and possibly won. But sure, he takes off his Threadless-exclusive shirt, and if Harry doesn’t recoil from a body that kind of hasn’t really been to the gym that much lately if ever, Cisco can get over a few injuries.

Still, he’s really, really careful when he leans back down into Harry, planting a forearm to one side of his head as they kiss, as he barely lets his chest touch Harry’s, even though it’s really, really nice feeling his heat, feeling him breathe, the tickle of that smattering of hair… Cisco hasn’t had much action in years, and none of it’s been with a man. Kendra had been great, so great, and he’s never going to deny how much he loves a woman’s body. But _fuck_ he likes the sinewy hardness of Harry’s, the muscles, the stubble and all the sharp edges. And what he feels when Harry presses his hips up against Cisco’s.

He says something into Harry’s mouth, something that would be garbled even without Harry’s lips and tongue in the way, and he’s pressing into Harry harder than he’d intended, Harry’s hands down his back, in his hair…

“We should… Let’s go upstairs,” he finally gets out. Because reasons. Not least of which is the fact that even if his parents are out of state, this is still their _couch_ and he’s not a randy teenager. He’s an adult with his own room, and if that room happens to be in his parents’ house that’s got nothing to do with it. 

Harry looks at him. And that’s when he thinks he’s made a wrong move, making this seem serious enough that it’s not just a random fumble-fuck on the couch. If they go upstairs that means making a cool-headed decision.

“You don’t trust me,” Harry says, which was not what Cisco had expected at all.

Cisco sits up, pushing his hair behind his ears. “What? Why do you even… Do I _need_ to trust you?”

“For this… yes.”

Cisco could ask what “this” is, but he knows. “Look, I trust that you’re not going to hurt me, okay? Unless this is all some plan of yours to get me to Vibe again.” Okay, and _that’s_ not a good thought. “Waiiiiit. Could I seriously Vibe from an orgasm?”

Harry half-shrugs, giving that “who knows?” look again. “Hasn’t happened before, has it?”

“Okay, no.” And between Kendra, Harry’s mouth, and his own hand it’s not like he hasn’t had enough test data. “So we’re going to bed. Come on.”

Cisco picks up his shirts and leaves, going on ahead partly to avoid any more discussion, partly because he’s not at all sure how much of a wreck his room is right now. He’s pretty good at taking out the trash and clearing his laundry basket, but his mom hasn’t been allowed in since he moved back. And yeah, okay, the bed is unmade and there are bits of half-finished projects and ancient tech journals all over the place, but Harry lives in a workshop, so even the presence of an actual king-size mattress is probably relief enough.

“So. We’re going to bed.”

It _still_ makes him jump, that sudden voice behind him. Harry must’ve taken off his shoes. This time Cisco just smacks him right in the stomach. Which is fortunately not the side mauled by a gorilla. “God, yes. Bed. Jesus. Get in it before you give me another heart attack.”

Harry says _absolutely nothing_ about the Black Canary photo by the bed, or the fuzzy R2-D2 propped up by the pillows. Just sits down, slides off his jeans, and looks like he’s actually in some kind of twisted Calvin Klein ad.

“On Earth-2,” Cisco says, taking off his own jeans and hoping that conversation will distract Harry from looking at him too much, “you’ve got a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend? I mean, you’re rich, right? And famous? And you look...” he indicates Harry’s everything, while hopping out of his pants leg, “like that.”

“You told me that Thawne was perpetually single.”

“Yeah, but he was a supervillain. Tough to fit in dating between trying to kill the Flash and plotting world domination.”

“And you… You make good money, you seem to spend it on nothing but t-shirts, you’re clever, witty, and cute…”

Cisco raises his eyebrows. This sounds like a trap. “Didn’t we discuss how my last girlfriend ran away with her reincarnated hawk-god lover?”

“Bummer,” Harry says, although his mouth quirks with a smile.

“Yeah,” Cisco says, dropping those jeans. “Bummer.”

Things that are nicer than he thought they’d be: well, Harry for one, but mostly the feel of Harry’s body under him, and the way the bulge in that tight black underwear slides so smoothly up against the bulge in Cisco’s not-so-stylish boxers. And also Harry’s hands on his ass, feeling him, pulling him in as the kissing gets back to the intensity it had reached before, then tugging down the boxers.

“Okay, okay,” Cisco says, standing back up. “I’m going… I’m just going to go… Bathroom, okay? Going to clean up.” Which is some kind of nervous code for “I’m going to want you to fuck my ass raw in a few minutes.”

Whether Harry gets it or not, Cisco tosses his boxers on the floor and goes naked to the bathroom along the hall. With his own heart beating so loudly, with the running water, it would be pretty easy for Harry to just flee while he’s in there. But nope. When he gets back Harry’s still lying on the bed next to R2-D2, totally buck-naked except for his glasses and the 2009 edition of some oil-smeared magazine he’s been reading.

Types of men Cisco Ramon has never gone to bed with: men over 40, men with abs, men who lie around half-hard while frowning over turbine engine data, men whose crystal-blue eyes flick up and look at him and seem like they might not be judging him. And then Harry tosses the magazine and slips off his glasses.

Cisco wants to apologize for absolutely everything in bed - _sorry I’m out of practice_ , _sorry I’m not much good at this_ , _sorry I’m not Oscar Isaac_ \- so it’s a good thing his mouth is very quickly full of cock. Nice, smooth, thick cock that’s hot under his tongue, that calms him the fuck down after a few moments, because sucking is something he can do well (ha ha). And because he doesn’t need to look at Harry, worrying if he’s enjoying it. He’d imagined Harry as some kind of emotionless marble statue in bed, which in retrospect was dumb because this was Harry Wells, who routinely hurled things across the lab in anger. It’s only moments before there’s one big hand in his hair and Harry’s breath is catching, his hips pushing up, soft moans turning into a murmured “Cisco…”

He tries not to rub himself against the blanket, because that way lies either friction burns or coming way too prematurely, but he _wants_ to, warmth flooding him, stiffening him, making the insides of his thighs itch. He wants Harry to touch him, suck him, fuck him. But he also wants to keep doing exactly what he _is_ doing, because being able to flick his tongue and feel the responding jerk, the gasp, and know that’s _Harry_ he’s doing it to? The shiver goes all the way down his spine. 

Harry, though, is older. And even if Cisco doesn’t know exactly how long it would take for him to get hard and ready to go again, it’s way longer than Cisco is prepared to wait. So he does lift his head, sitting back to enjoy the view of Harry’s saliva-soaked erection, his flushed chest, his lidded eyes and half-open mouth. One day he’s going to suck Harry off. And another he’s going to fuck Harry good and put him away wet. 

“Come here,” Harry says.

They kiss, lying facing each other, Cisco pressed to Harry while Harry cups his ass, grabs lube and slicks him up. “You’ve done this before.” It’s only about half a question, because by this point it shouldn’t be.

“Yeah. Just… not for a while.” Harry’s fingertips feel good though, careful and tender, and his body responds just as it had when it hadn’t been a while. 

“Me neither. So… slow, yes?”

Cisco nods into Harry’s shoulder, spreading his legs a little more. “Yeah.”

He finishes the job, fingering himself while Harry settles back into the pillows, rolling on a condom. Harry might insist he’s fine, but all those wounds make it seem like he might fall apart in a second – when Dr. Light _punched_ Cisco, he hadn’t wanted to move for days. And besides. He just feels safer doing it like this. Not because of Harry, not exactly, but because of everything.

When he straddles Harry, he leans in and kisses him again, reaching back to find Harry’s cock. Harry’s fingers find his nipples, stroke and pinch, as if he wasn’t already overstimulated.

He tries to even out his breathing, guiding Harry into him, opening himself up enough that the lube does the rest. “Oh oww,” he murmurs, eyes closed, but it’s a good pain that after a moment is only pressure and a warm, heavy fullness that seems to fill his cock as well. Harry’s stroking his thighs, soothing him, and who would ever have thought Harry might be a considerate lover? 

When it feels good enough to start moving, he opens his eyes. “This is… You feel so good.”

Harry smiles, almost embarrassed. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Uh huh.” He’s so caught up in how it feels, how his skin is buzzing, that it takes a moment before he frowns. “You’re not enjoying yourself?”

This time the smile is entirely genuine. “I find it a little hard to relax with a beautiful boy riding me.”

Cisco raises his eyebrows. Cynicism is his natural response, but no one’s called him _beautiful_ in, well, probably since his mom critiqued his eighth-grade photos. He runs a hand over Harry’s stomach, over his scars, his nipples. “So are you going to fuck this ass or what?”

Harry draws his legs up, and Cisco leans forward to brace a hand on the headboard. And oh God. The thrusts aren’t hard at first, but he knows they could be, and that Harry could fuck the come right out of him if he tried. Harry gets two hands on his ass, spreading him, pumping into him, and Cisco follows the rhythm. Still, it’s slow. Easy. Cisco leaves the headboard and just leans forward, planting his palms on the bed and kissing Harry, his hair falling around them.

“Cisco,” Harry whispers, keeps whispering, and that’s something Cisco wants to hear a thousand times more. “Fuck me, Cisco.” Okay, that too.

He starts pushing back against Harry’s cock, his own slicked-up erection sliding over Harry’s abs, and Harry responds, thrusting harder, wrapping his arms around Cisco. Usually Cisco isn’t afraid _at all_ of giving guys pointers, telling them they’ve got the angle wrong, but whether it’s total luck or amazing skill, Harry’s already right there, pressing into him so nice and deep. “Jesus Christ.”

And then Harry slips a hand between them, curls fingers around Cisco’s cock, and starts working it.

“Fuck,” Cisco says, loudly and clearly, right in Harry’s ear. “You know you’re gonna…”

“I’m aware of the mechanics.” And Harry’s breathless too, Cisco just riding the power of his thrusts, trusting Harry to take him there, all the way. “Need you,” Harry mutters, and Cisco lets go, tightening up around that gorgeous cock, spasming, spilling out over Harry’s hand and chest. The way he cries out is _definitely_ not something he’d get away with if his parents were home.

He tightens his hold on Harry, just sinking down into his arms. Cisco doesn’t see his face when he comes, but he feels it, the way Harry’s hips stutter, the way his body tenses. And the way Harry says “ _Cisco_ , oh God Cisco.” Which is basically the best part.

“We need to clean up,” Harry says, what seems like both ten hours and ten seconds later.

Cisco’s snuggled up on his chest, still straddling him, probably with his head covering a bullet hole, which he doesn’t want to think about. Clean up, sure. There’s sweat, there’s semen. They’re going to be a horrible sticky glued-together mess if they don’t. But. Harry is just so warm, and smells good, and Cisco’s genuinely afraid that if he moves he’ll never ever be in this position again.

“Cisco.”

A gentle poke in the soft part of his belly.

Cisco raises his head. “Hey,” he says.

Harry licks his lips. “Hey.”

“You want to finish the movie?”

“Hm.” Harry nods his head toward the TV screen behind Cisco, the dusty one that has a stray sock hanging over it. “Can you play it here?”

Cisco grins and kisses him. “I’ll get the DVD. And the beers. And a washcloth.”

He rolls off the bed, his hair trailing out from under Harry’s fingers. _This,_ he thinks, _is heavy._


End file.
